


we'll never get back

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Consensual Ravishment, Gangbang, M/M, Masturbation, Public Blow Jobs, Public Use, Rape Fantasy, Really Not Happy, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6826588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe's got some fucked-up fantasies about being on his knees surrounded by stormtroopers.</p><p>[Please note CNTW and tags, okay?]</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll never get back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeinallcaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/gifts).



>   
> @coffeeinallcaps: do you think poe has dubcon fantasies involving stormtroopers
> 
> Then this happened. Title & epigraph from The Faction, [Lost in Space](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Zj_baHumaY).

_We've gone too far, what are we to do now?_  
_We pass the distant stars and I ask how, how, how_  
_Lost in space, we'll never get back_

The important thing is that this isn't important. None of this is remarkable in the least, especially not him.

Some mid-level asshole will drop him to his knees, kick him in the kidneys until Poe bows his head. He'll still have his wrists in binders behind his back, his shoulders twisted and bowed just this side of agonizing. Then the flunky tells the 'troopers milling around to have some fun: they've earned it, Poe's given up all the info they need for now. 

And at first the 'troopers just kick the shit out of him, yank his hair, bring their knees up into his face. Because they're stupid little hivemind shits, right? Maybe they call him names, but nothing memorable, nothing that _works_.

It's up to Poe to spit out the latest mouthful of saliva-and-blood, maybe part of a tooth, and say to the one in front of him, "C'mon, make it interesting or just let me pass out. Need my nap."

Their armor creaks as they look around at each other, boots shuffling. Maybe there are a couple uncomfortable giggles. It's forever before one of them, to his left, grabs a handful of his hair with those thick gloved fingers and yanks back his head until Poe's mouth is stretched open. His eyes wheel, but he's nearly upside down and can't make out much beyond white armor, blank helmets, empty black eyespots.

"Shut the fuck up, scum," the one holding him says. Something along those lines. What matters is that it's hostile and stupid. He's hooked his thumb into the corner of Poe's lips, pulling him wider open, and holding him there until his jaw aches.

"Look at the resistance bitch," he'll say to his buddies and comrades, shake Poe by the mouth a little like a bridled beast. "Drooling for it already."

Poe will struggle, try to wrench his head free, but this one's got a good grip on him. If Poe moves too much more, he'll lost most of his scalp as well as all his teeth. So he stills, heaving for breath through his nose. He can hear it whistling as the 'troopers elbow each other and crack wise about how revolutionaries will fuck anything that moves, and some things that don't.

He better play along. He doesn't have much choice, not if he wants to make it out of this.

And the resistance has invested a lot of resources in him. He'd basically be nosediving an X-Wing if he struggled more now.

GX-number-whatthefuckever is first up, his buddy still holding Poe's head back and his mouth open. Those ridiculous codpieces don't detach, just swing aside on a hinge on the top; inside, they're all wearing those black catsuits, slit at the front. GX's dick is out, and he's jerking it, looking at his buddy as he pushes it in Poe's mouth. 

"No fucking teeth, right?" he asks and his buddy assents. They're probably in love. It's very tortured, very tragic. So hard being engineered psychopaths who just want to hold hands and weave flower crowns for each other after a hard night of slaughtering civilians and raping livestock and imposing conformity on the galaxy.

The sharp edges of the bug suit catch the sides of Poe's face, score his cheeks and cut up his ears. He's not sucking but he's not biting, either. He _would_ bite, he _should_ bite, but there are many pressing reasons why he doesn't. None of them are coming to mind at the moment. 

Just one fat dick shoving against the top of his throat, tasting like old spunk and cooked-up sweat, and troopers watching, rocking on their heels, rubbing themselves in the spaces between armor pieces. Sweat is pouring down Poe's face, stinging every pore. Someone else comes, and the rest of them mock him for shooting early. It lands mostly in Poe's hair, a little in one eye, and burns.

"Fucking hell, pal," someone says, "like what you see, huh?"

"You know me," he says as he smears the come into Poe's eye with the heel of his glove. The edge of his sleeve armor scrapes up Poe's cheek. "Like giving 'em what they want."

That seems to loosen them the rest of the way up. Codpieces swing out of the way, armored gloves slap him across the face to keep him conscious. Come trickles down the back of his neck, wells out the sides of his mouth, as they yank themselves and compete to insult him the best. Worst. One of those, or both.

He's weak. He wants this, he wants this _so bad_ , everyone in the Resistance knows how much he wants this, that's why they keep sending him back here. Everyone knows he's going to fail, that he's going to break. 

He keeps breaking, a little worse every time. This is out of his hands.

They might as well just toss him away with the next trash vent. Send him spinning through space, mouth open, ass up.

Scum always beg for it, eventually. They can't keep it together. Even these stupid 'troopers know the truth about him, and they shout it at him, mix it up the kicks and the slaps of their dicks across his face that splatter him with pre-come, as they're jockeying each other for access to his mouth. Sometimes two of them fuck him at once, in and out, stretching his mouth until it starts to tear, and they know, he still wants more. 

They're _so good_ to him, they give him more, always more.

He's not much more than a mewling slut for them - they're the masters of the universe here compared to one weak and broken traitor, pulsing-hard in his pants, weeping for it, half-blind from sticky, burning come and the stinging, throbbing pain of bruises, abrasions, open bleeding cuts.

They've got him, they've got this, they're taking care of _everything_. This crowd of faceless monsters, pulling his head this way, that way, his hair coming free in their gloves, his blood and sweat smearing pink over their perfect armor. They're getting dirty, giving it to him.

Two dicks in his mouth. Maybe three, somehow. Definitely all around him, shooting on him, mocking him, making him take every single thing he longs for.

He's betrayed them, and the resistance, Leia and his mom, _everything_ he said he believed in. Broken so many times over that it's a hall of mirrors at this point, shards receding into shards, sharper and smaller. He wants this, he wants them, whatever they want to do to him, but they know he's not worth it. He isn't worth anything, really, so what they're doing for him, to him, is an indulgence. 

They'll probably fuck his ass, too. They promise to. Lay him out face down in the interrogation chair, tie open his legs, let anyone have a poke. Maybe GX and his boyfriend will charge for it. It's hard to plan the perfect wedding on a nonexistent 'trooper salary.

The 'troopers line up for his ass, they usually do whenever Poe gets thinking about this, but tonight he's running out of time. No time to get the whole ass-fucking in gear before he's coming in his hand, up onto his belly, one last 'trooper dick pumping sour and full over his tongue. He'll cough, it'll come out his nose. No matter how hard he tries to slow down, he's coming, back arching, groan scraping up his throat. He yanks hard a few more times, twists his ballsac, tugs his foreskin until there really are tears in his eyes.

He kept quiet, though, that's the good news. Only moaned for it, like anyone would, but he didn't let on past that.

So when he's still trembling, coming down, and Finn _kisses_ him, sucks the sweat off Poe's upper lip and pats back his hair, Poe's good. He's safe. He's back, he's good.

He's actually a disgusting piece of shit, but he didn't break this time, not this time.

"What were you thinking about?" Finn whispers, right in his ear, wet and thunderous and sweet. He's dragging his lips along Poe's jaw, his cock poking Poe's thigh as his arm snakes around Poe's waist. "Hm, baby?"

"You," Poe tells him, kissing him gently, hand on Finn's cheek. It's not a lie, far from it. "Just you, always."


End file.
